I'm walking and blogging via a wonderful invention called speech to text. I walked three miles earlier. It rained at 5, the sacred time with Mandy and I were supposed to go to the playground, but now it's just dreary. I'm smoking a Logic electronic cigarette. I don't like real cigarettes anymore.
When I was young, I would devour anything Ray Bradbury wrote. He always stressed that's being a writer meant taking long walks late at night so I always envisioned myself as an adult, walking through the streets of New York City while smoking Marlboros. So here I am, another dream strangely fulfilled. I started listening to more of Atlas Shrugged, my android reading to me in a posh female Speak and Spell voice, but then I realized Bradbury didn't have an android, (clockwork or otherwise) MP3s, books on tape, or even a Walkman. He meant that you were supposed to be all alone with your thoughts inside of your head, those things that we have so many technological means to avoid. So I'm walking, trying to live in the moment, seeing the streetlights reflected off of the rain-slicked asphalt. A 1980s VW Jetta with square angles has been hand painted black and red, with hot pink hubcaps. Whoever said "Fuck what everyone thinks, I'm doing that." - I want to buy them a drink.
I watched an animated film called Mary and Max on Netflix. It's the most beautiful film I've seen in a long time. It took a while before I stopped crying.